The Language of Touch
by Marauder
Summary: Frodo finally gets up the courage to tell Sam how he feels, but secrets learned about Smeagol lead him to reconsider. The second in the Language Series. FBxSG, SmeagolxDeagol.
1. A Voice In The Dark

The Language of Touchby Marauder

Part Two in the Language Series

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I do not own them here or there

I do not own them anywhere.

I own them all! (no, only joking)

They all belong to Mr. Tolkien.

Note: Yes, I know that Smeagol and Deagol have accents over the e's , but I can't get my computer to do them.

Chapter One: A Voice In The Darkness

Though three beings lay in the gully, the breath of only two could be heard. Gollum's breathing was shallow and hissing; occasionally he twitched in his sleep, flexing his spindly fingers. Sam's breath flowed more steadily. He slept sitting up, having succumbed to his weariness while keeping watch.

A few feet away, Frodo sat tense and restless. He also breathed, but it would require exceptionally sharp ears to hear it, for it was shallow and soft. He had woken up only minutes before to find the other two asleep.

"Poor thing," he said, looking over at Sam. He walked over to where his beloved lay and rested his hands on his shoulders. Gently, Frodo eased Sam onto the ground.

"I hope he won't be too hard on himself when he wakes up," said Frodo, caressing Sam's hair with one hand. His years of living alone had taken away any qualms Frodo once had about talking to himself out loud. "After all that's happened, it's little wonder he can't stay awake. Ninnyhammer indeed! If anyone's a ninnyhammer, it's _you_, Frodo Baggins, because you've had chance after chance to tell him how you feel and you still haven't done it. I don't know what you're waiting for. You ought to have told him when you tried to leave the Company and he followed you. He could have died! Even if it isn't romantic, Frodo, he loves in some way, and he's not the kind who will think less of you if you tell him what's on your mind."

Sam rolled over in his sleep, causing Frodo to draw his hand away. "No more excuses, Frodo! When he wakes up, you'll send Smeagol away on some errand and then you'll tell Sam. And that is final."

With that, Frodo crawled back under his blanket and pulled it over his head. Just as he began to drift off into slumber, he heard a loud hiss. He jumped up, but then sat back down when he realized that there were still only the three of them in the gully. "It must have been Smeagol," he thought. "Probably dreaming of fish." He let out a sigh of relief and got back under the blanket.

"My precioussss…."

Frodo's hand leapt to his breast and clasped tightly around the Ring. He could feel the swift beating of his heart.

"I want my preciousss…"

"Well, you can't have it, you nasty vile creature!" cried Frodo. "It's mine! Bilbo gave it to me and it's mine!"

The part of his mind that still belonged solely to him heard his words and was ashamed.

"Calm down," he told himself when the madness had passed. "The poor wretch can't – " He stopped short.

The creature had referred to himself as "I". Not "we". He spoke as one person, not two. But who had spoken? Smeagol or Gollum?

"I miss my precious."

The voice spoke simply and clearly, all traces of hissing and guttural noises gone. "Smeagol," thought Frodo to himself. He sat up more and stared at the creature.

"I remember," said Smeagol, his eyes still shut and his body no longer twitching. "I remember when I first saw Deagol."

"Deagol?" thought Frodo. The name had some place in his memory, but he could not think of what it was. So many unfamiliar names had reached is ears in the past months.

Then he remembered. Deagol had been Smeagol's friend, another Stoor. His murder had been Smeagol's first.

Part of him had no desire to hear whatever sad and sordid tale the creature had, and wished to flee. But the part that dominated rooted him to the spot.


	2. The Arrival

Note: Thanks to all who gave advice on the accents!

Chapter Two: The Arrival

His voice flowed on, strong and clear, and Frodo found himself unable to move.

"My grandmother had bee quite ill," Sméagol said. His voice was that of a young person, a hobbit just out of his tweens, perhaps, though his remembrances were of long ago.

"Very ill indeed. We were all shocked, for she was quite a hearty person, having reached the age of one hundred and twenty-three without ever ailing more than a day or so at a time. At first her illness was mild – she complained of headaches and chills sometimes in the evenings, and insisted on magnificent fires. Then she would remain in bed until almost noon, saying that the room was spinning. My mother cared for her at first, but she had twenty children, fifteen younger than me. I was twenty-nine.

"My grandmother passed in and out of coherence. At times she was herself; at other times her fever rose and she was delirious. Yet I was the one she recognized with the most frequency, and so I was the one put in charge of her care.

"I moved a cot into her room, and stayed with her day and night. Though everyone in the smial helped with our meals and laundry, I was her constant aide and companion.

"Days passed into nights, and soon all time seemed the same. Even when she slept peacefully, I was anxious and wakeful. My grandmother was the head of our family. It was her permission that my sisters' suitors asked and her hand that rested in blessing upon the head of each newborn child. Without her, the smial fell into disarray. Dishes sat in the sink; children ran wild; rows broke out over breakfast and didn't end until after supper.

"One day I woke to my mother's hand shaking me. I leapt up, stumbling from my exhaustion. 'I'm sorry!' I cried. 'I shouldn't have fallen asleep, I – '

"She held up one hand to stop me. 'It's all right, Sméagol,' she said. 'You've been under so much strain lately.'

"'I haven't minded,' I protested, 'not at all, I – '

"'Sméagol!' I was silent. 'I understand. I don't blame you at all.'

"For the first time I noticed that she was not alone. Standing next to my mother was a hobbit whose age was hard to determine. Though his face was unlined and unmarked, his black hair was streaked with silver. The shade of his skin was that of a Fallohide, but the contours of his face belonged to a Stoor. He wore a pair of black breeches and his waistcoat was deep blue, embroidered with emerald threads. In one hand he carried a large willow basket. I looked at him with slumber-dazed eyes and he smiled.

"'This is Déagol,' my mother said. 'He's from the river's west bank, about ten miles down current. He's very knowledgeable about herbs and healing, and he's to help you take care of Grandmother.'

"'I can do it,' I protested feebly, but my aching limbs told me that the battle was over before it had even begun.

"Déagol held out one hand. 'Déagol, at your service.'

"'At yours and you family's,' I said, shaking his hand. His grasp was warm and confidently firm.

"A loud scream rang out from somewhere in the corridor. My mother rolled her eyes. 'Oh, there goes the baby again,' she sighed. 'Excuse me.'

"When she was gone, I turned to Déagol. 'Tell me what I can do,' I said.

"He looked over at my grandmother, who was asleep. 'I think,' he said slowly, 'that the best thing you can do for everyone is to go back to bed and sleep until you feel fully refreshed.'

"'No, I'm fine, I can help,' I said, ignoring my exhaustion and making one final attempt.

"'You need to sleep, Sméagol,' he insisted. He walked over to my cot and pulled back the coverlet. Surprised, I reluctantly climbed into bed and let him cover me back up.

"'Don't worry about anything,' were the last words I heard before I drifted off. 'Your grandmother is in good hands.'

"I remembered his strong yet warm grasp, and believed him."


	3. Sky and Light

Chapter Three: Sky and Light

"When I woke up, the fading light was shining through the window, and I could hear the quiet calls of the birds outside. 'Ah, he's finally awake,' said a voice from across the room.

"I looked up. 'Grandmother!'

"'Hello, Sméagol.'

"She looked better than she had in weeks, though she was still weary and had to be propped up with the pillows. The over-deep blush had left her cheeks, and here eyes had lost some of their fever brightness.

"Déagol was sitting in the corner nead her bed, smoking. 'Good evening,' he said.

"Evening! How long have I been asleep?'

"'Three days. Give or take a few hours.'

"I gaped, amazed. 'Three days!'

"'Yes. You slept very soundly.'

"Déagol, I learned, had been using a combination of kingsfoil and other herbs to heal my grandmother. Though she still had a fever, it had gone down four degrees, and she had been coherent for the past ten hours or so.

"'Your mother told me about how hard you've been working, Sméagol,' she said. 'Come over here and give your grandmother a kiss.' I did, and she smiled. 'Both of you have been busy. Poor Déagol hasn't even had a chance to be shown around yet.'

"'I can to that,' I said, taking the hint.

"'Go right ahead,' she said. 'I'm going back to sleep.'

"We shut the door quietly behind us as we left.

"'Was it really three days?' I asked Déagol once we were outside her room.

"He smiled. 'You sound so surprised. Yes, it was. After all, you have been working almost nonstop for the past fortnight.'

"A few of my young cousins ran up to us from another corridor. 'How is she?' they asked, breathless.

"'Recovering and much better,' I said. Relieved, the ran on, their worries shed and their minds now turned to childhood carelessness.

"'Your grandmother is quite an alert person,' said Déagol. 'When my grandfather was her age, his mind was that of a small child.'

"Unsure of what to say to that, I led him down the next hallway. 'This is the wine cellar,' I said. 'My grandmother will probably want to visit here as soon as she's well.' He smiled.

"'How did you learn so much about healing?' I asked him as we continued down the corridor.

''I have a cousin who lives across the river from Lothlórien,' he said. 'A Fallohide. He's friendly with the Elves there, and I learned from them on my visits.'

"'Elves!' I exclaimed. I was very excited. 'I have heard much about them, but never seen one. Is it true that the people of Lothlórien are among the most beautiful creatures in Middle-earth?'

"'This I cannot say,' said Déagol, 'for I have never traveled much. But yes, they are fair and light. Their eyes are the color of the mid-morning sky and their hair is like moonlight shining on corn silk.'

"We had reached the end of the corridor, and I led him outside. The sun was setting over the river, and I could hear muted voices from the other side of the bank. We sat down under a tree, upon one of its wide roots.

"'I wish I had traveled,' I said looking out at the smoldering ball of fire on the horizon. 'I've never been more than eight miles away from the smial.'

"'What would you do if you did travel?" he asked.

"The answer sprang to my lips immediately. 'Explore the waters,' I said. 'I would take a boat and travel on the rivers until I reached the sea.'

"'And what then?'

"'I don't know,' I said.

"We sat under the tree in silence until the sun was gone and darkness forced us out of our thoughts and back to the murmur and glowing light of the smial."


	4. High Up and Low Down

Chapter Four: High Up And Low Down

"When I went into my grandmother's room the next morning (for I had moved back into mine the night before), I found her eating breakfast with Déagol and my mother. She was eating her meal in bed on a tray; the others ate with their plates balanced on her nightstand. 

"'We thought you'd be awake soon,' said my mother. 'I saved you some potatoes.'

"'You know I can't stand the things,' I said.

"'Sméagol, a person who has twenty children cannot be expected to remember each and every food each and every one dislikes.'

"I blushed, feeling like a petulant and spoiled child. 'I'm sorry.'

"'Here, I'll take yours, if that's all right,' said Déagol, reaching for a third plate from the stand. 'They're very good.'

"'And you could use some more meat on your bones,' said my grandmother as I gestured for Déagol to take the plate. 'Someone who knows so much about healing ought to take better care of himself!'

"'Mother!'

"'Oh, that's fine,' said Déagol, and the startled look on my mother's face melted a bit. 'Mistress Violet is right, I don't eat like I should.' He handed me my plate, the potatoes now gone.

"I learned that my mother had finished to tour of the smial that I had started. 'But I left outside for you,' she said, smiling.

"I led Déagol outdoor, intending to take him down to the river. The sun was excruciatingly bright; I squinted until my eyes were almost closed. 'Come on,' I said to Déagol. There was a quarter-mile of forest to travel through before we reached the river bank, and for once I welcomed the branches more than the roots. Their broadness would shield me from the sunlight.

"'Do you ever climb these trees?' Déagol asked as we approached the forest.

"'It never occurred to me,' I said truthfully.

"'They're perfect for it. You could probably climb them better than I could too, you're more muscular.'

"For no reason I could understand, my stomach felt queasy but not unpleasant at his remark.

"'I prefer to keep my feet on the ground.

"'Suit yourself, then,' said Déagol, and reached for a branch.

"I could hear him climbing overhead as I walked along, the moss caressing the soles of my feet.

"'It's lovely up here, Sméagol,' he said. 'You ought to try this sometime. The leaves are so vibrant.'

"I shuddered. 'I'd fall,' I said.

"'Then I would catch you.'

"'It's too bright up there,' I said. 'Direct sunlight hurts my eyes.'

"'Then how do you tolerate the sun shining on the water? The reflection is the brightest light I have ever seen, save the sun itself.'

"'I spend most of my time under the water. I can hold my breath for a very long time.'

"'You shall have to teach me,' he said. 'I do not swim well.'

"'What!' I exclaimed. 'A Stoor who does not swim well?'

"'I was very sickly as a child, and I never learned properly. That was where I got my interest in healing. I wanted to make myself well.'

"'You are not weak now,' I said, 'not if you are strong enough to climb from tree to tree. I can teach you.'

"When we reached the end of the forest, I found one of my family's boats at the shore. 'Come,' I said, "I will take you down the river to my island.'

"'What is it called?' he asked.

"'I do not know. I think that I am the only one who ever uses it.'

"'Sméagol's Island, then,' he said, grinning.

"As I pushed the boat out into the river, the sunlight hit his face in such a way that I noticed dark circles under his eyes. I must have looked at him for longer than I thought, for when I climbed into the boat and began to row, he asked, 'What are you thinking about?'

"'I was trying to decide how old you are,' I said.

"'Thirty-three.' My eyes widened involuntarily. 'Yes, I know I look much older.'

"'Not _so_ much older – '

"'But at least forty.'

"'Well…'

"Suddenly, he laughed. 'You do not have to worry about offending me, Sméagol,' he said. 'It happens very rarely. I understand that you are wondering about me, as I am about you.'

"'So,' he said, leaning back and resting one foot on his knee, 'ask away.'

"'What is your family like?' I asked, thrusting the oars into the water. 'Besides your grandfather and Fallohide cousin.'

"'Well, I am a fourth Fallohide, and the rest is Stoor,' he said. 'My father has been dead these past two years, which leaves me as the oldest male in the family. The only other is my brother, and he is only four years old.

"'I am the oldest, he is the youngest, and between us are ten sisters. The oldest seven are employed as maids in various households.'

"This surprised me, as his voice suggested that he had been raised a gentlehobbit. I told him this as politely as I could.

"'My father died and left us nothing but gambling debts,' he said quietly. 'His attorney sold the smial and now we are living in a large cottage.'

"'I am sorry,' I said.

"'It is not as horrible as it sounds,' he said. 'My sisters are hard workers, and we are comfortable, if no longer rich.'

"'That is why you seek employment in healing, then,' I said.

"'That is why I seek employment. I heal because of a genuine respect for the powers of herbs and roots.'

"We reached the island.

"It was small, yet covered with great towering willow trees whose branches hung over the water. The bottom of the boat bumped into the roots a good two meters before we reached the land.

"I tied the boat to a willow branch and got out. 'Well, here it is,' I said.

"He also climbed out of the boat and stood next to me. Lightly, he ran one finger over the willow leaves.

"The tenderness of his pale finger stroking the soft green of the branch send chills down my spine, and for a moment I understood how a person could love the branches of a tree more than the roots. I had never paid much attention to them before, but somehow, there with him, they were beautiful."


	5. The Island

Chapter Five: The Island

"He sat upon the bank of the island and let the current wash over his feet. 'I like this place,' he said, turning his head to look at me. I still stood in the shade of the willows. 'I wonder if any herbs grow on this island.

''I have never seen any,' I said, 'but then I do not have an eye for such things.'

"'I have,' he said. 'Would you mind if I looked?'

"'Of course not! But I will warn you, the willows become so dense that it becomes darker the further you go inward.'

"'I do not mind,' he said, and stood up. 'I can adjust to the darkness.'

"We walked into the veiled sanctuary of the willows, where all was dark and quiet and even the insects made no sound. A few years ago I had trimmed back parts of the branches to make a path along the small inlet that came in from the river. I walked into the water, which came up a few inches past my ankles. Déagol walked beside me on the land, his eyes turned downward. Occasionally he would pasue and pcik something growing out of the earth. We did not speak.

"Near the center of the island was a small pool, about as long as seven hobbits lying head to foot and about as deep as one and a half. It was fed by the river, but had no fish because of the shallowness of the inlet. Around the pool flew fireflies, tricked by the darkness into believing that they lived surrounded by perpetual night. They flickered among the branches, illuminating a leaf for mere seconds before abandoning it in blackness.

"Déagol laid down his herbs and sat cross-legged at the pool's edge. The light from the fireflies made his hair shine as they landed upon him. He leaned over and dipped one finger in the water, sending a series of ripples across the water's surface.

"I was unsure of what to say, and so waited in silence. Finally he stood and said, 'Do you think you could teach me to swim in this pool?'

"'Yes,' I said, 'but don't you think my grandmother will be wanting us back?'

"'Yes, we should probably return to the smial and see how she fares,' he said. 'But do you promise me that you shall teach me someday soon?'

"'I promise.'"


	6. A Brief Departure

Chapter Six: A Brief Departure

"A few days passed, and my grandmother's condition became no better or worse. She remained in her right mind, though she was still too weak to leave her bed. Seeing as she was stable, it was decided that Déagol could return home for a couple of days to see his family.

"'It will be good to see them again,' he said, folding a pair of breeches. I was in his room as he packed his suitcase. 'Especially Pearl.'

"'Is that your sister?' I asked.

"He looked up at me and smiled the smile that was uniquely his, soft and kind. 'Yes. My youngest sister.' From a pocket in his suitcase he took out a miniature portrait and handed it to me.

"The hobbit-girl in the picture was much like Déagol, except that he face lacked his weariness and instead maintained a youthful freshness. The curls in her hair were loose, unlike her brother's well-defined ones. Her eyes were very round and brown, and her expression was inquisitive. The color of her dress was a cloudy blue that balanced the striking contrast of her dark hair against pale skin.

"'She's beautiful,' I said.

"'She was three years old when this picture was painted,' said Déagol, sitting down on the bed beside me. He traced her cheek with one finger. 'Now she is five. My father painted this picture days before he died.' He sighed and bit his lip. I almost reached out to touch him but something stopped me.

"'I'd better finish packing,' he said, standing up and suddenly abrupt.

"'Who will be bringing you home?' I asked.

"'No one. I am going alone.'

"'Alone?'

"'It is only ten miles away.' He placed one more shirt in the suitcase and closed it.

"'I could go with you,' I said. 'If you do not want to make the journey alone.'

"'Ah, but then who would care for your grandmother? She needs you more than I do.'

"Suddenly it occurred to me that I would miss him. It was a new feeling to me; I was used to being on my own, under the waters, submerged in a world away from others. For the first time, I had had a companions, someone who had seen the places where I dwelled. I felt like I barely knew Déagol; yet his absence would be a marked difference in my life.

"'I am glad you will only be gone two days,' I said.

"He rested one hand on my shoulder and grasped, then picked up his suitcase and was gone.

"That night I thought for a long time, contemplating how I could feel sorrow at the departure of a person I hardly knew. It made no sense to me, and I could not explain it except to say that his presence had made me feel, for the first time in my life, no longer lonely."


	7. Sheltered From The Rain

Chapter Seven: Sheltered From The Rain

"I woke up in the morning to the sound of rain pelting my windows. Through the blurred panes I would see the young trees outside my window tossing in the wind like drunken dancers. Glad to be warm and safe in my bed, I pulled the covers up around my neck and burrowed my head into the pillow.

"Tracing the grey threads on my quilt, I wondered what Déagol was doing at home. I imagined him in front of a fire, smoking his pipe with his younger sister Pearl beside him. His brother, mother, and other sisters were a blur in the background. Looking at the sheets of water sliding down the windows, I wondered just how large their cottage was.

"There was a knock on the door, and before I could speak it opened. My sister Iris came in, her nightgown crumpled and her hair loose. 'Have you got any old clothes I can stuff in the window?' she asked. 'I opened it last night and now it's stuck that way and the rain is pouring in.'

"I got up and opened my wardrobe. 'This tore a while ago, and I never asked Mother to fix it because I thought she'd be angry,' I said, tossing her a blanket. She caught it. 'I'll be back so I can talk to you when I'm done,' she said.

"Iris was my oldest sister and the second oldest child in the family. For the past month she had been living at home again, arriving just before Grandmother fell ill. Previously she had lived across the river with her husband, who had fallen off their roof and broken his neck in August. We were under very strict orders not to mention him in her presence.

"Iris was never my companion, but she above all others understood the need to have your own territory. It was she who convinced my mother that I should be allowed to pull up things in the garden if I wanted to see their roots. It was she also who sewed me thick curtains when I complained that the lighter ones let in too much light.

"Iris was not akin to me in the mental sense, but her emotions understood mine.

"When she returned, her hair was tied back, and she sat down on my bed. 'The crack's filled now,' she said. 'Clover is mopping the floor.' Clover was a cousin of mine, about a year younger, and she shared a room with Iris.

"'How bad is the damage?' I asked.

"'Nothing that can't be fixed. I wanted to ask you…what is Déagol like?'

"'He's quiet,' I said. 'Quiet…but you can tell he's thinking all the time. He knows a good deal about growing things.' I thought for a second. 'Why?'

"'Mother was talking to me last night,' she said, leaning her head back. 'She wants me to marry again, and she made a comment about how Déagol is very talented and sure to be prosperous.'

"The thought of them married refused to mesh with my mind. Iris was very talkative, and most things that came into her head came out of her mouth. However, she was never deliberately hurtful, and in that respect and that respect alone could I find a similarity between them. 

"'I don't think you'd be happy with him,' I said.

"'Oh, it doesn't sound like I would,' she said, dramatically rolling her eyes. 'I don't think I could ever live with someone so quiet. You know, I don't think I've ever heard his voice before.'

"'That's because you've only seen him at meals,' I said. 'He talks to me. And Mother and Grandmother.' The last was an afterthought.

"'But he doesn't talk _much_. I need to know how a person is feeling.'

"'You _can_ tell how he's feeling,' I said. 'Watch his mouth.'

"'His mouth?'

"'Yes. His smile is sad, somewhat, but when he's really upset about something the corners fall. Every one in a while he finds something funny and then he smiles broadly but with his lips closed, like he's trying not to laugh. When he's talking about something serious his lips move very slowly.'

"She looked at me curiously, and I could feel my face grow hot. 

"'Iris!' came Clover's voice from down the corridor. 'The blanket's soaked through!'

"'I'd better go and fix that,' she said, getting up."


	8. The Ride Through The Storm

Chapter Eight: The Ride Through The Storm

"I dozed on and off that day, with my grandmother's blessing, and the rain poured on. Grandmother arose from her bed for the first time in nearly three weeks to tell me that I was free to rest. And so I pulled the covers over my head and slept.

"All of my dreams took place under water. In them I swam, warm and contented, diving under and over roots. I had no need for air. All was silent and peaceful.

"I woke up early the next morning, the morning of the second day that Déagol was gone. Someone had left toast and a pot of tea on my nightstand. I opened the top of the pot and let the sweet-smelling steam wash over my face. Outside, the storm still raged. Lightening illuminated the room and made the shadows look like monsters.

"'Sméagol!'

"The cry startled me, and I dropped the pot. The sticky tea sweetness spread across the floor. I leapt up and raced across the corridor to my grandmother's room.

"She lay on her bed pale, pale, pale as the sheet, the sheet that I found to be sweat-soaked when I touched it. Her eyes rested at half-mast. 'Sméagol,' she moaned.

"'I'm here, Grandmother,' I said, and touched her forehead. I recoiled instantly; it was hot as smoldering embers.

"'Sméagol, I'm so hot,' she said.

"I stood up. 'Mother! Mother!'

"Iris came into the room. 'She's asleep. Daisy kept her up all night and – ' She looked at our grandmother and stopped.

"'Iris,' I said urgently, her fever is higher than I've ever seen it. I don't know what to do.' I looked at the dark sky split with lightening and made my decision. 'I'm going for Déagol.'

"'In this weather?'

"'I'd rather get wet than see her die!' I cried. Iris was silent.

"'I need you to wake up some other and look after Grandmother while I'm away,' I said when my emotions had settled. 'Do anything you can to keep her cool. _Don't_ let her fall asleep. I'll be back the minute I can.'

"'But you don't even know where he is!' she exclaimed, her eyes wide and barely holding back tears.

"'I know he's across the river and ten miles down current,' I said.

"'What will you do, ride down the bank and call for Déagol?'

"'Unless you can think of something better,' I said.

"She looked at me and cried, 'Oh Sméagol, be careful!' Her arms threw themselves around me just as the thunder crashed. 

"In the stable I decided to take Topaz, our strongest and fastest pony. I did not bother with a saddle; I would ride like the Elves.

"Out in the pelting rain I steeled myself for the sounds of thunder. Topaz, for whatever reasons of her own, was not disturbed by them. I threw by belt around her neck and used it as makeshift reins. 

"The bridge was half a mile away, and I hoped that the river had not flooded it. With the milky-white lightening the only thing to pierce the dark morning, I rode on as fast as I could. Within a sixth of a mile I was splattered with mud and thoroughly soaked. 'Just keep going, Sméagol,' I told myself. 'Don't be afraid. Keep going.'

"The bridge, which required tolls during fairer weather, had been abandoned by all save myself. Topaz's hooves clattered on the boards, just barely louder than the heavy downpour. Below us the river churned and pitched.

"The people of the river had no towns; I had only an approximation of where Déagol was. Luckily each mile along the main path was marked by a post.

"The tress were no longer drunken dancers; now they were battle-hungry warriors, soldiers bent on destruction. Branches fell before and behind me, causing Topaz to cry in fear. I tried to calm her. 'Keep going, Sméagol,' I said to myself once again. 'Keep going.'

"Occasionally I could see the lights of windows on the side of the path that was opposite the river. I passed the post that indicated that I had traveled one mile since leaving the bridge. Then the post for two. Still the storm bore down with its fierce passion, and still I went on.

"'Think of Déagol,' I told myself as Topaz raced past the four-mile post. 'Think of his smile and of his hands. Think of how Grandmother will be better once he has seen to her, and think of how when this is over you can take a hot bath and have some tea. Think of how you'll teach Déagol to swim – if the pond hasn't flooded, that is. Think of Déagol and how he would tell you to not be afraid, and keep going.

"I thought of roots, and flowers, and quilts and tea. I thought of water and earth and stones. I thought of fish and minnows. Above all I thought of Déagol.

"We reached the seven-mile post, and the eighth. At the ninth I began to cry out Déagol's name at every wayside light. 'Déagol!' I cried as loudly as I could, slowing down Topaz so that Déagol could hear me if he was there. 'Déagol!'

"And lie a miracle, a door opened and an old hobbit in a nightcap stuck out his curly head. 'If it's Déagol you want, you've still got another twenty-two cottages to go,' he said, squinting irritably at me. 'Now be quiet so we can sleep!' He slammed the door with an authoritative flair.

"Eighteen cottages…thirteen…nine…four…I was almost there. Finally I reached large thatched house with one light shining from a window. I dismounted Topaz and ran to the door, pounding on it as hard as I could when I arrived.

"After a minute or two the door opened, and I stood face to face with a young lass of about seventeen. 'My name is Sméagol,' I gasped. 'I need to see Déagol as soon as possible.'

"And then he was there, dressed – for it was morning, I realized. I had been so long in the darkness that I was like the fireflies on the island who thought it was always night.

"'Déagol,' I said, 'my grandmother's fever is higher than it's ever been. She – '

"'Give me half a minute,' he said, and vanished into the cottage.

"Within seconds he had returned, suitcase in hand. 'I'm ready,' he said. 'Peridot, explain to Mother what happened.' Within a few steps and one swift leap, he had mounted Topaz, the suitcase balanced in front of him. 'I will lead the way,' he said. 'Sit behind me.'

"'I'll fall off,' I said stupidly.

"'Then hang on to my waist.'

"I mounted quickly and grasped him around the middle. I had been right when I thought that he was not as fragile as he looked; under his soft pale skin, he was wiry. With one sharp dig of his heel, we were off.

"He rode with determination, and with a sureness that comforted me. Tentatively I pressed my cheek between his shoulder blades. He did not flinch.

"We were soaked through and it was cold, yet his back emitted a light heat. I pressed my cheek closer.

"Before I knew it, we were racing across the bridge. Déagol leaned forward and slapped the reins.

"The second we arrived at the smial, he leaped off and I followed suit. Leaving Topaz where she was, we rushed inside.

"'I'll need alcohol, and lots of it,' he said as we ran down the corridors. 'Someone should be boiling water and I'll probably be using what's left of the kingsfoil.' Upon hearing his words, I ran off for the wine cellar.

"When I returned minutes later carrying four bottles, Déagol had laid my grandmother on top of her blankets and had undressed her. 'Pass me some of those rags,' he said, shredding kingsfoil leaves rapidly as he spoke. 'I'm going to rub the alcohol on her body so that it will take away the heat.' I tossed him a rile of rages from the corner and pulled the cork from one of the bottles using my teeth.

"'Your teeth are strong,' he said as I passed the bottle to him.

"Iris and Clover burst in followed by my mother. 'Is there any boiled water?' asked Déagol before they could speak.

"'We'll make some,' said Clover, and she and Iris ran from the room.

"Déagol turned to my mother and me. 'You can get back to sleep,' he said. 'I'll be fine.'

"'But Déagol – '

"'I have what I need, and I can manage,' he said, slowly raising his head and looking at me. Our eyes met. 'Sleep, Sméagol.'

"My mother ushered me out and she continued to walk down the hallway. I stayed outside and stared at the closed door. I would stay there, I thought. I would stay there until I was allowed in. I sat down, folded my knees against my chest, and put my arms around my doubled-over legs. Outside the storm was still continuing its wild massacre.

"The next thing I knew, Déagol was shaking me awake. 'Sméagol,' he said. He was crouching beside me. 'Wake up, my dear.'

"I opened my eyes. Sun was shining through the windows. I could hear water dripping outside.

"'Yes?' I asked faintly.

"'Her fever's broken. She's well, Sméagol. Her fever's broken and your mother is feeding her toast.'

"Trembling, I rested one hand on his shoulders. He laid one hand on my back. I pulled him close and then began to cry."


	9. The Fire

Chapter Nine: The Fire

"Things were forever different after that night. It seemed that the world was Déagol. His eyes seemed the brightest, his mouth the most enticing, his voice the most dulcet, his hair the most curly. He was forever on my mind.

"As my grandmother regained her strength, we took her outside for walks. The time she was forced to spend in bed made her restless, and she soon returned to painting, something she had not done since my youngest uncle was born. Déagol and I were kept busy searching for plants that would give her dye – he showed me where to find the best ones. At night we would sit in front of the kitchen fire and crush them into ink. After we were finished he would sit on the rocking chair and smoke while I sat at his feet. After a week, I began to lay my head on his knee. After another week, he began to stroke my hair. We never spoke of it.

"'You love him,' Iris said to me as she took down the cold-stiff laundry.

"Her words bounced back in forth in my head for days. I had never been in love before. Yet he fascinated me, intrigued me, and I longed for his every smile and touch.

"I began to do little things for him: making sure he got his favorite plate at dinner, washing his favorite waistcoat, opening the doors for him. He always gave me that smile of his, warm and slightly sad. We never spoke of that either.

"'You love him,' Grandmother said to me as she dipped her brush into the yellow dye.

"This time I blushed and lowered my eyes, for I knew that it was true.

"'Don't worry, lad,' she said. 'I won't tell a soul.'

"That night Déagol and I sat beside the fire again, and his fingers caressed my hair. As the flames leapt, so did my heart."


	10. Eggs

Chapter Ten: Eggs

"Before long, my grandmother had painted all the paper we had and was beginning to grow restless again. Déagol, however, had an idea.

"'My oldest sisters do this,' he said, setting down a basket of eggs on the kitchen table. He had just returned from the hen house. I was sitting in the rocking chair by the fire, wrapped in my quilt; it was the first day of November and the weather had suddenly turned cold overnight.

"Déagol took out one egg and held it up so that the blunt end faced him. He picked up a small knife that was lying near the basket and lightly pricked the egg's surface. 'You have to do this part very carefully,' he said. Slowly, he cut out a small circle from the shell.

"'I can't remember where your mother keeps her bowls. Could you get me one, please, dear?' Pleased by the last word, I rose from my seat without hesitation and walked to the cupboard across from the fireplace. 'Thank you,' he said, when I had brought him the bowl, a solid brown one that my father had made.

"He put his lips over the egg's hole and then tilted his head back so that the sharper end of the egg pointed towards the ceiling. I watched with fascination as he slowly sucked out the insides of the egg. After a minute or so he took the shell away from his lips and spat the yolk into the bowl. The yellow center was still intact.

"'The trick is to do it slowly and lightly,' he said, and spat again.

"'And what do you expect us to do with the saliva-covered yolks?' I asked teasingly.

"'You, nothing. I plan to fry this one and eat it. Your grandmother can do what she likes with her yolks. So – ' he held up the egg again ' – once the insides have been sucked out, you rise the egg, outside and inside. Once it dries you can paint on it. My sister Peridot has an entire shelf of them above her bed.'

"'Is she the one who answered the door?' I asked.

"'Yes. I just had a letter from her yesterday.'

"'You know,' I said thoughtfully, staring vaguely at the eggshell, 'the more I think about it, the more it amazes me how I managed to get to your house riding bareback, in the rain, and with only a belt for reins.'

"'People can usually do anything if they absolutely have to,' he said. 'I once dived down to the bottom of the river and came back up, even though I can barely swim.'

"'Why?' I asked.

"For a reason I could not fathom, he looked away from me. 'To rescue something a friend had lost,' he said. Then, suddenly as he had looked down, he looked up. 'Now you try an egg.' He handed me the knife.

"I took it from him, chose an egg, and tentatively pressed the tip on the knife on the shell. A small bit of yolk told me I had pierced the surface. I began to slowly cut a hole, as Déagol had done.

"'That's remarkably good,' said Déagol, leaning over my shoulder, and I realized he was standing right behind me. My blood quickened. 'I must have ruined fifteen before I finally succeeded.'

"I took out the piece of eggshell and set it on the table. 'How exactly do I suck it out?'

"'Slowly. Try to keep your teeth away from the shell. Let your tongue move back to accommodate the center of the yolk.' I looked at the egg and back at him. 'Go on, try it.'

"As he had done, I put my lips around the hole and then tipped my head back. At first nothing came out; I brushed my tongue against the shell and found that that large yellow part was blocking the opening. I sucked harder. The egg broke and all of the yolk rushed into my mouth. I gagged and grasped for the bowl.

"'All right, spit it out,' said Déagol, hastily pushing the bowl towards me and speaking the way he did when something was wrong: brusque and hurried. 

"I gagged again and then spat into the bowl. 'Spit as many times as you need to,' said Déagol. One of his hands was rubbing up and down my spine. He was still standing behind me.

"'It can be a bit hard to do,' he said, his hand stopping between my shoulder blades as I spat again and began to lick my teeth with my tongue. 'Maybe you ought to make the hole bigger.'

"'Maybe,' I said, recovered, and picked up a new egg.

"This time the opening was big enough that I could have stuck my thumb through it. As Déagol watched, I attempted to suck out the yolk once more. This time, I could feel the thick liquid slide easily past my lips. I let my cheeks swell out as the center began to come through. When I had sucked all that there was, I took the shell away from my lips and expelled the contents.

"'I'm impressed,' said Déagol. I smiled and blushed.

"'Sméagol!' exclaimed a voice from behind me. I spun around to face my mother. Her hands were on her hips. 'Is that a chicken egg?'

"'Yes,' I said.

"'I don't want you using those. The rest of the family might like to eat some too, you know.'

"'I'm sorry,' said Déagol. 'It was my idea.'

"'Oh!' she said, and looked flustered. 'I'm sorry, I – '

"'No, you're right. I should have asked permission first.'

"Once he had explained, my mother decided that the rest of the family could live with less eggs than usual, provided that it would help my grandmother. We received permission to take half of what the chickens laid each day.

"'I think you're becoming her favorite child,' I said to Déagol once my mother had left.

"He laughed, the first time I had ever seen him do so. It was even more beautiful than his smile. 'No, they're just worried about Mistress Violet. And a good thing for you, too – otherwise, if you wanted eggs, you might have to do the unthinkable and climb a tree.'

"'I actually climbed trees a great deal when I was younger,' I said. 'I stole eggs too.'

"'Really?'

''Yes. My brothers used to call me Sméagol Bird-Foe.'

"He grinned.

"'I don't know why I stopped,' I said. 'I guess I just began to prefer the ground to the sky. Déagol?'

"'Yes?'

"'I – I'm glad you're here.

"He rested one hand on my shoulder and smiled, the sad sort of smile he sometimes had. 'So am I, my dear. So am I.'"


	11. The Choice

Chapter Eleven: The Choice

"Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and love's haze cast its spell over it all. I am sure that in those weeks I must have eaten, I must have bathed, I must have swept and cooked and slept. I remember none of it.

"I remember sitting down at the river bank with Déagol and my grandmother, showing my grandmother how to suck the egg's yolk. Soon her painted eggs filled the smial; all seventy-some occupants had at least one, from my great-great uncle to my latest newborn cousin. 'He's a wonder,' my relatives would say of Déagol when he was not there. 'Purely a wonder.'

"My grandmother decided that she wanted Déagol to live with us permanently. I was there when she told him. He bit his lip and said, 'My family is large and my mother needs help. Give me some time to think about it, please.'

"'I will,' said my grandmother. Déagol bowed and left. I turned to follow him but my grandmother stopped me.

"'You're not to influence him, Sméagol,' she said. 'Don't give him any advice, nor offer any opinions. I know you'd keep him here forever if you could, but the choice must be his.'

"'I know,' I said.

"As he thought of what he would choose, Déagol became even more silent than usual and seemed to be always lost in thought. He picked at his food, and stared into space for long periods of time. If he lit his pipe to smoke, it would burn away without one puff ever being taken from it. He had no more quiet smiles for me; his mouth was always slack and his eyes vacant. Trying to follow my grandmother's orders, I kept my distance.

"He did not sit at his chair by the fire anymore, and after a few days of this I adopted it as my own. The use-worn wood had absorbed his scent, and I would sit in it and rock, inhaling the aroma.

"After two nights of this he came back into the kitchen. I began to rise from my seat, but he raised one hand to stop me. I sat again, my eyes never leaving him.

"He sat at my feet, as I had once sat at his, and rested his head upon my knee. I ran my fingers through his hair, tentatively at first and then with more confidence. His eyes were shut; his breath was steady. We sat like that for hours, until the sun had set and I could see the moon out the window.

"As the fire began to die, he sat up and looked at me. 'Sméagol,' he said. 'I will stay.'

"There was a conviction in his eyes that had been missing in recent days had returned, and he looked more alive, more vigorous, than I had ever seen him. My hand was still in his hair; I could feel him shaking. 'You're trembling,' I said.

"'Sméagol, I – '

"'My dear,' I said, and I raised his chin, bent down, and pressed his pale, soft lips against mine."


	12. The Faults of Two

Chapter Twelve: The Faults of Two

"After a second, he pulled away, startled and breathless. 'You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Sméagol,' he said.

"'I do.'

"'You can't. You aren't old enough.

"'I'm not much younger than you are,' I said, although I knew that when it came to life he was far my senior. 

"'Déagol!' rang out my mother's voice from somewhere far away. 'Mistress Violet is asking for you!'

"'We'll discuss this later,' he said, his voice low and serious. He stood. 'Come into my room tonight after everyone has gone to sleep.'

"At dinner that night, he made no mention of his decision, and I worried.

"By half-past ten the smial was silent and I took my candle across the corridor.

"I found him sitting up on his bed, still dressed. I looked around his roon; it was sparse, the only things making it his being a book and Pearl's portrait on the nightstand. 'Sit down,' he said, and gestured to the end of the bed. I sat.

"'First of all,' he said, sighing and pushing back a stray curl, 'yes, I am attracted to you. Immensely.' I smiled, but then he looked into my eyes and I stopped. 'I've had lovers before, Sméagol,' he said. 'Two. Does that surprise you?'

"'Nothing about you surprises me,' I said truthfully.

"'Exactly, and that, my dear, is because you hardly know me.'

"'I love you,' I said.

"'You love a hobbit you have known for barely over a month. You love, Sméagol, what you have seen, and that is only a small part of my character.'

"'I don't care,' I said foolishly. 'I love you. You're kind and good and – '

"'Ha!' he said shortly. 'I told you I had two lovers. The second one was married. He offered me money to lie with him.'

"'But your father had was dead,' I protested. 'You needed money, you – '

"'I haven't finished, Sméagol. I never took so much as a copper piece from him, and yet our intercourse lasted most of a year. Why?' His face had a hardness I had never seen before. 'Because I lusted after him. Because he was beautiful and strong and gave me pleasures beyond anything I had ever dreamed of. You see, Sméagol, I am very weak.'

"'As am I,' I said. 'As are we all.'

"'Perhaps you are weak, but you are untainted. Am I right in assuming that I am the first person you ever kissed?'

"I nodded, embarrassed.

"'Sméagol, your head is full of romance,' he said. 'Of undying devotion, of sweet notions. I forgot those things long ago.'

"'You tell me many things,' I said, staring at him intently, 'but your actions speak louder than your words. We have spoken little, it is true, yet I have seen many things from you that I admire.' He broke the gaze and looked down at his quilt. 'I have seen a compassionate being, one who devoted himself to saving another.'

"'What if I told you I did it only for the money?'

"'Then you would be a liar.'

"He blushed, and I knew that I was right. Then something struck me in the way that lightening strikes, fat, hard, and undeniable. 'Yes, my dear, you are weak,' I said. 'This too I have seen. You are trying to scare me, to distance me, to convince me that you are unworthy. A hobbit who was truly as corrupt as you claim to be would have merely laughed and pushed me away, or else taken advantage and tried to seduce me. You are afraid. Afraid of me, afraid of yourself, afraid of us.'

"He finally raised his head and looked at me, his eyes clear and open. 'You are young,' he said, 'but you are not the child I thought you were.'

"'No.'

"'My first lover was wonderful,' he said. 'Sweet, and good, and with lips like melon. He was precious to me.'

"'Let yourself be precious,' I whispered.

"He moved forward so that our parallel faces were inches apart. He raised one hand and cupped the side of my face, stroking my cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. 'Together we could be strong,' he said.

"'Yes.'

"His stroking stopped and I closed my eyes. His lips brushed against mine – brushed harder – pressed – locked."


	13. News Of A Journey

Chapter Thirteen: News Of A Journey

"Déagol was far shyer with me than I was with him – inexperienced, I was eager to know the things I had missed. I wanted him to be my teacher, to bestow upon me the art of pleasure and bliss. But in that first week before the journey he was a suitor around me: shy, questioning each move, wanting permission. We met in his room every night and every night I went to bed, aroused and unfulfilled. I tried to undo his breeches once; he pushed my hand away and I did not try again.

"For the first time, I realized my advantage as the fifth child in the family. My two older brothers were married with at four sons between them, and it was not my role to marry and ensure the success of the family line. I was free to love as I pleased…discreetly, of course. Déagol could live in my house and sleep in my bed, but it was very poor manners to mention the latter in public. The family and some close friends would know the true nature of our relationship, but never speak of it. Déagol's role as healer to my grandmother had already earned his acceptance.

"Before long, the rest of the family recognized us in subtle ways. My aunts always put our plates next to each other at dinner; my great-uncle inquired as to what time "your Déagol" would be returning home from shopping for a winter cloak; my mother made no more mention to Iris of Déagol's potential as a husband.

"By late autumn, my grandmother's health was no longer an issue. 'Ah, but we're a large family,' she said to Déagol at the close of her first week out of bed. 'No doubt someone else will come down sick and you'll be needed again. Besides, I've been inquiring as to your family, and it seems that your mother is my brother's son's daughter.' She leaned in towards both of us. 'So you're cousins as well as lovers, lads, and that's the way it ought to be kept in well-bred families.' In her old age, my grandmother had begun to disregard a few of the rules of manners.

"Sometime during her recovery Déagol had mentioned to her that I was curious about Elves, and she decided that I ought to travel down the river and see them in Lórien. 'You two have had enough of work for a while,' she said. 'Take a boat – and Sméagol, teach him how to swim! I know it's late in the year, but all signs say it'll be a mild winter, and you can stay until late spring or early summer if you like.'"


	14. Before Departure

Chapter Fourteen: Before Departure

Frodo had been listening to all of this, his eyes unable to leave the creature. The fire was dying, and Sam was turning about in his sleep, but Frodo noticed none of this. Gandalf's words about Sméagol came back to him; Déagol had been killed while he and Sméagol were travelling down the – 

"Stop!" Frodo cried. "Stop, I don't want to hear any more!"

But the creature continued.

"I was eager to leave immediately, and at night visions of Elves danced through my mind. The rest of the house baked and cooked and sewed for our departure. I taught Déagol how to row a boat, and he was talented at it once he had learned. Within a week after my grandmother's offer, we were set to depart.

"Déagol wanted to bid farewell to his family first, and he took me with him. The journey across the bridge and down the river was calm and peaceful, unlike the first time I had traveled it. We rode on separate ponies, and he led the way.

"His mother met us at the door, and a moment later three small children came and clung to his knees. Pearl I recognized immediately; the other girl was called Amethyst, and the last, his only brother, was Dorbo. The other children of the family were introduced, but their names escaped me then and I do not recall them now. Most were fair and dark-haired like Déagol; a few were sandy-haired, and one was blonde. They were quick to speak and laugh, telling their brother stories and fetching him trays of pastries from the kitchen. Pearl I took to immediately. She alone of Déagol's siblings was quiet as he was, and in her I saw the way he might have been as a child. She observed everything that went on before her from her perch on a small stool, and when she gazed upon me I found myself wondering if she could tell how much I loved her brother. 

"Déagol's mother was much like my own, harried but good-natured. She and I fell into a conversation about our shared relatives; it seemed that she remembered Iris as a baby. As a child, she had traveled to our house many times with gifts of fruit for my grandmother. She looked nothing like her son, being dark where he was fair and possessing hair much lighter than his. Déagol must have looked like his father; I wondered if that troubled him, though I never asked.

"From his family's home we went straight back to mine, where we found our boat already loaded. My mother and grandmother kissed us both, and Iris presented us with a blanket she had sewed for the occasion. When the goodbyes had been said, Déagol and I climbed into the boat and my father pushed it from the shore. We paddled only slightly, for the current was in our favor and the river did not curve for several miles. I looked back at my family several times until I could see them no more, and then it was just Déagol and me, alone on the river with our thoughts."


	15. The Bank of Anduin

Chapter Fifteen: The Bank of Anduin

"The first few days we spoke little, concentrating on the pull of the oars and the current of the river. Yet at night when we camped on the banks, Déagol would lie beside me, his chest pressed against my back. I would wake in the morning to find his arm around my waist.

"On the fourth day his tongue was unleashed and he spoke to me more than he ever had before. We traveled less and rested more; suddenly the destination was secondary to the journey. 

"'I wish we could remain like this,' he said one night after a supper of fried fish and honey bread. We had put our bedrolls together and were underneath a great birch tree some several yards from the current. 'Though physically I am working harder than ever before, somehow I feel at rest.'

"I understood him immediately. Away from the smial, from our families and the close quarters, I felt free to think what I pleased. The river, which ran slower than some, provided a soothing noise of flowing water that put my anxieties at ease. The work of rowing too was satisfying; I slept more soundly and longer after working all day. Yet one trouble still haunted my mind.

"I turned over so that I faced Déagol, and with one finger I began to trace the lines of his face. Hesitant to ask, I at first sighed.

"'What is it, my dear?' he asked, sensing my unrest as was his way.

"'Why will you not lie with me?' Every night my body ached for him. My dreams were of tender flesh, of caresses and unrestrained passion. His most innocuous gestured aroused me.

"He closed his eyes for almost a minute and then opened them. 'Because I am afraid.'

"I opened my mouth to speak, but he pressed two fingers over my lips. 'Always before I have been the learner,' he said. 'Please, do not expect me to know everything. I don't, not one bit.'

"'You will not disappoint me,' I said. 'And I am not so innocent, I know what can happen between two males.' I rested my head on his shoulder. 'Are you afraid of pain?'

"'Yes.'

"'We can go slowly,' I said. 'And I know of things that can be used to ease the way.'

"Suddenly, to my great surprise, he burst out laughing, a throaty and full sound. 'You,' he said, running one hand through my hair affectionately. 'I accuse you of not knowing me, but just when I think I understand you, I discover that you know far more than I gave you credit for.'

"'I told you I did,' I said.

"A smile still lingered on his face. 'And where did you learn of such things?'

"When I was twenty, I confided in my sister Iris that I preferred lads,' I said. 'She told me.' For the first time I saw the humor of the situation, and I began to smile too.

"'And where do you suppose she learned of it?'

"'I never asked.'

"'Probably it was better not to,' he said, wiping a tear from his eye. 'Bless her.'

"We slept curled together that night, for the weather was growing colder and the leaves were falling more quickly than before.

"Still he would not lie with me, but we spoke about it after our discussion under the tree, and at times we told each other our desires. Many were the same.

"'You,' I said in the late afternoon of the ninth day, 'need to learn to swim. It is not safe for you to navigate the river unless you can.'

"We found the calmest part of the river, and I taught him the rhythm of kicking and paddling, holding him around the waist as he did so. At first the water, I think, frightened him, and he did not listen to me, flailing madly as though he was about to drown. But when he listened he caught on fast and by the time the sun set he had the idea.

"We had no idea how far we had come, nor did we much care. The food was still in great supply, thanks in part to the berries we picked in the mornings. Warmth was our only concern. We had taken to wearing our coats in the mornings until the afternoon sun had melted the frost. On that ninth day, we discovered a small cave hidden in the rocks. There we slept that night, listening to the wind outside.

"'Sméagol,' he whispered in the morning. Out of habit I pulled the blanket up over my head and ignored him.

"'Sméagol, this is urgent, I need you to wake up.'

"I grunted and raised my head, realizing how cold it was.

"'It snowed overnight,' he said. 'The river is beginning to freeze over and the snow doesn't look like it will stop anytime soon. I think that we ought to stay here for a while; until spring, if that is how long it takes. It's bitterly cold outside.'"


	16. Fire in the Snow

Chapter Eleven: Fire in the Snow

"My first thought was to turn back home, rather than agree to the mad idea of staying in a cave for months on end. But as I walked to the entrance of the cave and saw the white abyss outside, I knew my choice had been denied to me hours ago.

"Déagol's hair was frozen, I discovered once he came inside. I placed my hands upon it and exhaled hot breath. 'It's dangerous for you to be so cold.'

"He was only half listening to me. 'We need to gather wood,' he said. 'And lots of it, because it will need time to dry before it will be of any use. Last night there were eight loaves of bread left; we should bury them in the snow so they will not mold. As soon as the river is fully frozen we will need to cut a hole and fish, but until that happens we must live off what food we have. The opening of the cave should be blocked, for at some time the wind will change and blow the snow inside.'

"At that moment I felt once again the way I had when my grandmother was ill; all sense of personal desire was gone, replaced by a need for survival. I dressed quickly and followed Déagol out into the snow. For what seemed like hours with no end we felled trees and stripped their bark, working until the cave was half full. By a stroke of luck our boat could be wedged into the cave's entrance, save for a space of about eleven by nine inches.

"When I returned from burying the bread in the snow, Déagol had started a great fire, kept near the small space so that it could get air. I collapsed on the ground and moaned.

"'You must get up,' he said. 'It is like you said before, it is dangerous to be so cold. The wet clothes must come off.'

"'When do you think the snow will stop?' I asked.

"'I have no idea. Weather has always been a subject I am ignorant about.' He began to unbutton his waistcoat.

"'Even my grandmother thought that there would be a mild winter,' I said. 'She told us that when she gave her permission for our journey. Do you think we will survive?'

"'The thought of dying had not occurred to me,' he said."

Frodo cried out and fell backwards in surprise. If he listened any longer he would vomit. "Sméagol," he said desperately, "Master is listening, but now Master wants to sleep. Quiet yourself, Sméagol." His heartbeat quickened as the creature twitched.

"Can you hear me, Sméagol?"

A silence. "Yes."

The difference of the creature's voice struck Frodo again. The being he was speaking with now was such a distinct entity, yet he was Gollum's memory and past. "Who am I?" Frodo asked cautiously.

The voice shrank to a whisper. "The Ringbearer."

"Do – do you know my name?"

"Ringbearer."

"That's a title, not a proper name. Do you know my real name?"

The creature stirred. "Gollum. Sméagol. Déagol. Baggins. Precious makes all one, yes, all one."

"It doesn't," Frodo said at once, his voice sharp. "I'm not you, and neither of us is Bilbo, or Déagol, and neither of them are Sméagol or Frodo."

"All carry precious, yes? All wear precious, turn invisible, family thinks we are mad, yes. All fight to keep precious."

"That's where you're wrong," Frodo cried. He rose and backed away. "I'm going to destroy the Ring, and then there won't be any more precious, not ever."

Gollum – for he was Gollum now – hissed, which was what woke Sam at last.


End file.
